No Where Else To Go
by Not-Alone-Anymore
Summary: "She recloses her newly acquired Diary, but it's almost painful. She want's to write more, but she's afraid to. What if someone reads it? But no, she'll lock it up in a chest. Yes, that way no one will ever see, or read it. No one." (Angtsy and descriptive oneshot. Rated T for various reasond. My first oneshot by the way!)


**This was the originally going to be the first chapter of a new story I'm working on(Which won't be posted till Smash School is finished). I want that story to be a bit more light-hearted though, and this is so depressing. So you'll see a lot of similarities in that and this. Here you are, my first One-Shot.**

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No Where Else To Go

_August 14_

_Dear Diary,_

_Or should I write; Dear person(s) who is reading this. At least, I hope someone will read this in the future, near or far._

_My name is Zelda Harkinian._

_I am sixteen years-old._

_I am Princess._

_I think that's enough personal information for my first Dairy entry. I've never had a diary before, so I'm not sure how this works.  
The thing is, I have no one to confide to, so I'll jus write my feelings and problems in here. I guess the first thing I should write should be about my life.  
For the past ten years, I have been the heir to the throne. Ever since I was six.  
__My brother died a month from today, ten years ago. I never knew my mother, she died at my birth. My father doesn't care about me anymore, he just cares about his precious kingdom. He only talks to me when he wants to know how my studies, and tutoring is going.  
He loves to drop a million responsibilities on my shoulders, and expects me to take care of it all.  
He doesn't even try to teach me anything about ruling a kingdom. And the worst part is, I can't do anyhing about it.  
Sometimes, I wish I was a normal girl._

_Zelda Harkinian._

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She closed her book slowly, realizing what she had just written using a traditional ink pen, and very, very permanant ink. She flipped the leather bound book open again, and just stared at the page. The loopy handwriting she had perfected years ago. Her heart swelled, but quickly deflated, like an air matress that has just a tiny hole in it. Just big enough to let the air out with a long, a painfully long _Squeeeeeee._

Painfully is right. It hurt. It throbbed. It's bruising her, ripping everything apart. Blots of purple and blue adorns her figurative skin. Waves of almost excrutiating pain crash over her. Like the salty ocean water, beating it's icy cold fists on the sandy shore during one of it's many tempests. She feels like the sand, unbreakable, but easy to seperate. Seperation hurts far worse then shattering. She feels like she's slowly being ripped apart, a complete contrast to the quick, sharp pain of being broken. She feels like a jellyfish being stung by her own tendrils.

She recloses her newly acquired diary, but it's almost painful. She wants to write more, but she's afraid too. What if someone reads it? But no, she'll lock it up in that chest. Yes, that way no one will ever see it. No one.

These thoughts run through her head, faster then the machine gun, constantly shooting the inside of her head. But the bullets do nothing to break her skull, she is unbreakable. She sighs, and arises from her chair which sits in front of the large oak desk she calls her own. She starts to walk towards the large trunk at the foot of her bed, and slowly opens it. A rather low pitched squeaking noise emenates from the royally adorned trunk. She props the lid up, and rummages through the cluttered trunk till she finds what she's looking for.

A small chest. It's small and just a traditional as her ink pen. Made of some steel, feeling almost enchanted. It's a small version of the blue and gold chests you can find all over the city. Hyrule city, previously called Hyrule Castle Town. She taks a small key, the same metal as the chest, and fits it into the lock. With a satisfying click, it open. A melody. A soothing, sweet melody plays from that chest. Listening, and humming along, she puts the leather bound book in carefully, and wonders if she should stop think in the third person.

I pause, and my thought process returns to it's normal way. It's not the prefered way, but it's normal.

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_Later that night..._

I cannot sleep. I never can. And I can't tell if it's insomnia, or restlessness. But in the end, is there really a difference? A bit of my auburn hair is in my eye, the rest splayed out across the silky pillow case. I gaze up, up at the top of my canopy bed. The royal purple, shiny material seems to be never ending, that is, until I shift my gaze, even just a little, then it comes to an almost abrupt stop, where it jus disappears.

I sigh again, and lift myself from the luxurious, cloud-like feeling that comes from my bed. I walk slowly, almost levitate to the French doors. I remind myself of a ghost, a restless ghost roaming these halls every night, never sleeping, always moving. The French doors swing open with barely a squeak. The breeze is cool, soothing but haunting. It sings a chorus of ghoulish wailing. I can't get it out of my head, it's like that one song that always plays on the radio. It's cool, and fun to listen to at first, but they play it so often you get tired, bored of it.

I breathe deeply, the thick air feels suffocating. I lean over the railing, thinking of the normal little girls I've heard barely anything of. The other day, my maid Impa was talking about her neice's friend. How they toured one of the ancient Temple found all over Hyrule. How when that little girl leaned over the railing of a balcony at one of those Temples, and it apparently "Scared me halfway to Heaven." At least, that's what she said while talking to one of the common maids, Ilia.

Ilia is the definition of normal teenage girl. She's drama-filled, self-conscious, and complains about how her supposed "boyfriend" doesn't treat her right. But still, she's the only connection to the "Outside", as I like to call it, tha I have. I gaze past the tall stone brick walls, at some teens standing by the gate. Small wisps of smoke rise, circling itself, making a small gray cloud above those teens as they try to be "hardcore rebels" because they're smoking. The idiots, you can't smoke away your pain. Pain, it's nothing like the grayish-brown cloud of intoxicatingly sweet smoke that rises from the cigarettes that make them look so "bad*ss".

I both envy, and resent those teens. They think they're so cool because they smoke constantly, when really they're polluting their lungs, slowly poisoning themselves, taking away minutes at a time of their precious lives. It sickens me, and yet, I wish I could do that. I wish my pain could be stamped out like a cigarette butt, when in truth, that butt has not been stamped out, it's still burning with life, and it starts a fire. And that fire slowly spreads through the nearby forest, and across the land, killing thousands of innocent people along the way.

One thing that's always irked me, is that the people against smoking only care about how it's killing the indivual who smokes. In reality, a little cigarette kills so many more, it kills families, breaks trust, and poisons more then just the lungs. The smoke chokes those around the ones actually smoking, it sneaks it's way into the one around them until they are also smoking. Well, technically.

I watch those teens, barely batting an eye when one of them suddenly erupts into a rough coughing fit. That is one of the many consequences for smoking, he brought it on himself. I know that there are many problems out there, like smoking, and still I am intrigued about the "Outside." I confuses me I suppose, which is a rather alienated feeling for me. After all, my father practically forces me to spend all living hours studying topics ranging from politics, to music theory, to calculus, to literature. Those last three are my favorites, but I despise, with a fiery passion that could out live the fire of the great Eldin Volcano, politics.

I'm just thankful that I won't have to use all of the helpful political tips my brain has absorbed until at least a year. I am meant to be corrinated as queen when my father dies, or when he resigns. I know he's been thinking about it. He wants to remove the stress, the weight, and the responsibily of dictatorship from his own shoulders, and onto mine. Me, sixteen year-old Zelda. Poet. Mathematical genuis. Scientific prodigy. Musical artist. Princess.

But, most importantly

Prisoner.

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**Sad :'( but worth it. These are definitely the best metaphors and similes I've ever written.**

**Until next time,**

**~Not-Alone-Anymore**


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